


silk and snakeskin

by fairyslush



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Magical Realism, Blood and Gore, Fantasy, Getting Together, Grim Reapers, Lamiae, M/M, Urban Fantasy, Walks In The Woods
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-02
Updated: 2020-02-02
Packaged: 2021-02-28 05:34:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22528681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fairyslush/pseuds/fairyslush
Summary: ten is a lamia who eats the hearts of those who love him.kun is a reaper who collects the souls of the devoured.something shifts with every encounter.
Relationships: Chittaphon Leechaiyapornkul | Ten/Qian Kun
Comments: 28
Kudos: 182
Collections: In Every Lifetime: A KunTen Fan Week





	silk and snakeskin

**Author's Note:**

> !!!! READ BEFORE CONTINUING !!!!
> 
> ten is a lamia. he eats hearts. that means there's poetically described gore in there.   
> if you're good with that, you have a pass to continue, enjoy!

this is the woods. it is not friendly, nor it is _safe_.

but a reaper has no need for friends, no care for safety. kun only thinks of the list in his hand as he walks beneath the thick canopy, dried leaves and twigs rustling and cracking under his dark dress shoes. a black, wide-brimmed hat shields his face from the moonlight, the silver rays casting shadows on his well-suited form as he walks deeper and deeper into the foliage.

death runs like a business. there is a list, and on the list are the names of the newly departed. a reaper takes a list and goes about their day, collecting souls and sending them off to the afterlife for further judgement. mindless work, really. _repetitive_. monotone.

kun likes it this way. no fuss, no overtime. he looks at his list, all crossed-out save for one name at the very bottom, and furrows his brows at the cause of death. _a hungry lamia._

“again?”

🐍

in the south of the woods is a witch, pink-haired and _good,_ kind enough to lead lost hikers back to their trail. the east of the woods holds a darker power, but necromancers only move when needed, and their realm rarely harm those of the living, unless they come looking for trouble.

ten is not like that. he is neither kind nor discerning. mostly, he is _hungry._

“hello, mister reaper,” he greets, much too casually, as if his chin isn’t dripping with fresh blood, staining the front of his ruffled collar with a bright blooming red. “no worries, i am almost done.”

tonight is a night for hunting. a poor man lies dead on the forest floor, ruby-red life pouring from his open chest. it’s a clean slice, downwards from the throat to the diaphragm, right where the ribs divide. there’s a void where his heart should be; instead, his heart is in the lamia’s hands, half-eaten and oozing.

“must you be so _messy_?”

kun steps over the fallen branches, over ten’s silver tail, handkerchief in hand. he moves to wipe the blood off of his face, and ten just lets him, the white cloth coloring with deep, deep crimson.

“it’s hard not to,” ten purrs, his tail slithering against the damp grass to rest against kun’s leg. “it’s been a _while_ since my last meal, after all.”

kun sighs, the soiled handkerchief bursting into flames once he is done. “it’s been _three days_.”

“mhm,” ten nods, happily so. “i got hungry.”

🐍

a reaper has routines. kun finds his own method most efficient, collecting the easy souls first before moving on to the harder cases. last on his list is anything that happens in the woods.

“good evening, mister reaper,” ten moves towards him, slithering until his tail morphs into a pair of legs, the silver scales fading up to his knees like silk stockings. “you’re here again?”

kun nods, tips his hat down when he sees the lamia peek beneath the brim, curious as ever.

“why wouldn’t i be?” he scrunches as nose, as if the putrid scent of death still affects him. it doesn’t. “three in a night, mister lamia. is there an _occasion_ of sorts?”

the soil is damp from the bloodshed. three male corpses lay supine on the tall grass, chests pried open, the hearts missing. kun clasps his hands in a silent prayer, before brandishing his scythe from where his heart would be if he still had it. it’s a menacing thing, the blade sharp as it gleams beneath the moonlight, but the harvest is as painless as could be.

“how do they look like?”

kun doesn’t startle. ten is a curious little snake, his thirst for knowledge only second to his hunger for hearts. kun looks at the souls he collected, squints his eyes at their too-peaceful faces.

“like they’re in _love_ ,” he answers, curt and honest. “ _fulfilled_.”

ten peers over, resting his chin on the reaper’s suited shoulder.

“as they should.”

🐍

“you look _happy_.”

taeyong, like every good witch, owns a vast collection of tea from all-over. as his friend from the heart of the woods, ten thinks that it’s his duty to take advantage of it every time he could.

“i _am_.” today’s tea is hibiscus, and ten’s smile curls on the edge of the teacup. “like you.”

the witch quirks a brow, pouring himself a cup from a floating teapot. “may i ask why?”

ten inhales, beaming at the sweet scent of the dried flowers. “i _may_ have an admirer.”

taeyong’s features shift, pausing at the third sugar cube. “don’t you _always_?”

“this one is different.”

“how so?” _plop!_ goes the sugar cube.

ten sets his teacup down, rests his chin against his palm like a lazy kitten. for a moment, his eyes turn golden, sharp and gleaming from the soft afternoon glow filtering through the witch’s blinds.

“he doesn’t have a _heart_.”

🐍

it’s a weird sight; a reaper with no assignments, walking through the woods on his own.

kun _hates_ overtime. there’s a reason why he devised his routine, why he made it so efficient, because he likes making quick work with whatever his list assigns. and he’s good at his work, greater at finishing quickly, as though reapers like him have no use for time, he enjoys having it.

“i did not hunt tonight, mister reaper.”

ten is a sight to behold. a dark coat is draped over his shoulders, a stark contrast to the immaculate white of his ruffed dress shirt. kun has noticed his habit of wearing matching dress shorts, perhaps to provide an easy shift when it’s a tail that is beneath his torso. but right now, all it does is showcase his legs, the scales resembling stockings should he not look any closer.

“i know,” kun wonders why he is here too, with no list, no names to cross-out. but ten is here, so he has _thoughts,_ both to will away and to ponder. “i’m not here to collect anyone.”

“ _oh_?” ten lilts his head to the side, looking curious. “then to what do i owe the favor?”

“nothing,” kun shrugs, keeps his hands in his pockets. “no one but yourself.”

ten smirks. kun blinks, and the lamia’s legs have turned into a tail, silver and shining. ten slithers forth, close enough so their breaths could mix, so his tail can wrap around kun’s legs and squeeze.

kun feels no fear. he feels _something_ , but he knows it’s not fear.

“you know you can’t eat me,” he states, stoic, his hues locked upon ten’s own. “i have no heart.”

“i know,” ten smirks, and kun feels his tail shift back into legs, one leg hooked against his. “but i can do _other_ things to you, mister reaper.”

kun quirks a brow, asking less from curiosity and more from a challenge. “like what?”

ten hums, fingers playing with kun’s vest buttons. “may i show you my home?”

🐍

ten’s home is a cabin and it’s there in the heart of the woods. it’s the deepest part; barely reachable, save for lost hikers or men with a purpose. sometimes, they return. often, they don’t.

a lamia is a _seducer_. a snake with a human torso, they live off of hearts that love them. it’s an easy thing for ten, lovely and immaculate _ten_ , with his silver scales and eyes of gleaming gold. he _always_ has his fill, more from the willing than the lost, but his victims are never struggling.

(“like they’re in _love_ ,” kun had said. _“fulfilled_.”)

“make yourself comfortable,” ten pulls out a chair for his visitor, taking his coat and hat to hang on the wooden rack. the mahogany is something he’s proud of. “would you like some tea? coffee?”

kun takes a seat, looking overdressed in the cozy living. “tea, please.”

ten nods, boiling some leaves that he may have borrowed from a too-good witch.

“no one has come here in a while,” he muses, humming as the tea steeps to the kind of flavor he likes. “i don’t really take that many visitors.”

kun snorts. “not if you eat them before they can step in.”

ten laughs. “why _should_ i? my carpet is an antique!”

the tea finishes steeping, and ten fetches two dainty teacups from his cupboard. he sets them on a tray along with a jar of honey, and a pot of sugar cubes just in case. he walks forth, feet bare on the plush carpet, footsteps silent as he delivers the tea set to his dining table.

“what did you have in mind?” ten cuts to the chase after pouring the tea, the soft aroma of apple and chamomile swirling around the homey vicinity. “i never saw you as the type to visit.”

kun shrugs, putting two sugar cubes in his own cup. “am i not allowed to?”

ten shakes his head, draping his legs over the reaper’s thighs. kun quirks a brow, but makes no effort to push him off. it makes ten smile. “i thought you hated going overtime, mister reaper.”

“this isn’t work,” kun sips on his tea. “and call me _kun_. we’re just having tea.”

“ _tea,_ ” ten stretches the word like it’s made of twenty syllables. “ _okay_ , mister reaper.”

kun quirks a brow, just as ten raises his leg to brush against the line of his jaw.

“did you have something else you want to do?”

ten hums. in a blink, his legs are now a tail, and the tail wraps around the chair to pull kun closer. he leans close, close enough to smell the chamomile on the reaper’s lips. his fingers trace a line from kun’s cheek down to his chin, before his index curls upon it, tipping it forward.

“i wonder,” in the dim glow of the lantern, ten’s eyes glow gold. “you?”

kun vanishes in a cloud of smoke, only to reappear by his door, dressed in his hat and coat.

“i have to go.”

and he _does,_ before ten could even protest.

🐍

one thing is worse than a hungry lamia—an _angry_ one. kun sighs at his list; six people are up for collection in the same night, all with the same causes of death in the woods. _a hungry lamia_.

maybe he was rude. the _night_ before was a weird one; he could still feel the sensation of scales rubbing against his cheek. it’s not a bad sensation, per se, but it was _something_. and it caused _something_ ; enough to make him skip-off, enough to make him run away.

_he_ made ten angry, that much he knows. so he thinks of a way to send his apologies, only to be met by an empty clearing, save for the bodies that were left behind.

kun has no heart, yet he feels an ache in the space where it could have been.

🐍

“maybe you _scared_ him.”

jungwoo is not taeyong. taeyong deals with the living, and jungwoo deals with the _dead_. perhaps having him as a friend should make ten more understanding towards a certain reaper and his peculiar acts, but it doesn’t. he knows that there is a difference.

“he couldn’t,” instead of tea, jungwoo has served him juice, mostly due to the absence of his two familiars ( _boyfriends!,_ jungwoo coos. _blegh._ ) “he doesn’t have it in him.”

“you know,” jungwoo shrugs, sipping from his own cool glass. “reapers were once human too.”

ten groans. “then why does he _resist_?”

🐍

reapers do not knock. they barge in with nothing to herald their arrival, and they are _always_ unwelcome. death, after all, is a reality that the living finds hard to accept.

but kun knocks _thrice_. he waits in front of the antique door, hoping for a welcome.

“why are you here?” it takes five minutes for ten to open the door, barely an inch off the frame.

(reapers are _always_ unwelcome.)

“i have a collection,” kun finds no use in lying. “ _recent_ , but it went to my file.”

ten’s face is cold, but he opens the door wider, enough for kun to see the carnage on the antique carpet. the poor guy looks ravaged, his chest looking ripped rather than sliced. still, the soul looks like all the other ones that came before him—in love. _fulfilled_. except now, they’re also angry.

_i’m only here to collect you,_ kun sends before he brandishes his scythe, the blade casting a shadow with the dim lantern lights. _are you not ready to go?_

the soul shakes their head. _he is unhappy._

kun nods, says a little prayer as he gets to work. “i know.”

“know _what_?”

kun turns, and it is there that he sees that ten’s face is dripping with fresh blood, messier than usual. like routine, kun walks forth with his handkerchief, but ten steps back from his gesture.

“that you are unhappy,” kun doesn’t push, but he stays where he is. “that i have offended you.”

ten keeps still, locks his eyes with the reaper’s. “you _have_.”

kun is suddenly reminded of how guilt feels, despite years of unfeeling. “i’m sorry.”

the silence is deafening. if kun still had a heart, it would’ve dropped to his feet with the suspense, the worry. perhaps he made a grave mistake, did something with no chance of amendment, and the mere thought of ten being unforgiving makes the void in his chest ache. _phantom pains._

“clean my carpet.”

kun blinks, quite unsure if he’s heard him right. “huh?”

“i’ll be in the bath while you do it,” ten doesn’t repeat himself, but kun can see that his face has turned soft before he heads off to wherever his bathroom is. “wash my hair when you’re done.”

🐍

his bathroom is big, probably the biggest part of his forest cabin. the lamia like the water, and ten soaks in a tub scented with oils and dried flowers once he’s done washing the blood off. his legs are now a tail, silver and slippery, the tip hanging out from the rim as he reclines.

surprised is an understatement. ten’s cheeks color with the implications of the reaper’s visit, and he sinks further underwater in an attempt to will any wishful thoughts away.

“ten?”

kun stands behind the bathroom curtain. _peculiar_ , ten thinks, as reapers mostly just barge in.

“it’s a _curtain_ , mister reaper,” ten does not drop the formalities, half out of spite and half out of cheekiness, but it’s mostly to tease. “you can just slip in.”

he hears the reaper sigh before entering, his coat off and his shirt sleeves rolled to his elbow.

“i’ll wash your hair,” kun scurries in, and ten smirks at his reddening ears. “where’s the shampoo?”

ten raises a glass bottle. “right here.”

it’s a silent act. the tiled room fills with the sound of a tail swishing in water as well as the scent of forest-grown wildflowers. the shampoo is a special blend taeyong made for him; strong enough to mask the smell of death, yet gentle enough to keep his locks from drying out.

kun is _gentle,_ but ten chalks it up to hesitance more than anything else. still, it’s a nice experience; having kun’s fingers press against his scalp in the kindest manner. if he closes his eyes, he could delude himself into thinking that these were the hands of a lover, not of a terrifying reaper.

“you’re enjoying this,” kun whispers, and ten realizes that his hums have turned into moans. but he’s not embarrassed. instead, he looks up, places a kiss on kun’s throat to confirm.

“i am.”

when he’s rinsed, ten steps out of the tub, smirking when he hears kun’s breath hitch once his body is in full view. but lamia are _seducers,_ so he takes his sweet time drying himself before getting his robe, snorting when the blushing reaper runs out of the bath before he is even finished.

ten slinks out dressed in pajamas of purple silk, smelling heavily of wildflowers.

“lie with me,” he says as an order, not as a request, barely sparing the reaper a glance as he slithers towards his silk-covered bed. “i’ll forgive you if you stay ‘til the morning.”

kun sighs but does as he is told. ten’s tail turns into legs once kun is on the bed, and he hooks one leg over kun’s thigh, one arm over kun’s chest as he nuzzles close.

“you’re too clothed.” ten complains, but makes no move to remove the reaper’s vest. kun makes no move to take it off either, his hands pushing stray hairs away from ten’s face instead.

“i’m so—" kun begins, but ten places a finger on his lips to seal it shut.

“less talking, more sleeping.”

ten sleeps like a baby that night, not like a monster who eats the hearts of those who love him.

kun is gone when he wakes, but the bed is warm, assuring ten that last night was far from a dream. his sheets smell of death, a scent that’s so familiar to his kind, but this hits differently—like it’s _comforting_ , almost. ten savors the warmth until it grows faint, but the feeling goes back when he sees kun’s coat and hat hanging on his mahogany rack.

“ _pft_ ,” he snorts, slinks forth, his tail brushing on the carpet that’s devoid of any traces of carnage. he slips the coat on, holds the collar close to his form, and beams. “how adorable.”

🐍

“where is your coat?”

it’s not like kun to be late. he’s an _efficient_ reaper, punctual and loyal to his duties. recently, though, he’s been going off of routine, and him rushing into work in his clothes from the night before—sans coat and hat and perfectly brushed hair—is just the cherry on top of his floundering.

“and your _hat_ ,” his supervisor squints, and kun doesn’t need to look up to know that she is filled with utter disappointment. “is there something we ought to know, mr. qian?”

“no,” kun shakes his head. “nothing at all.”

she leans close, sniffs. “wildflowers.”

kun stays still for the entire inspection, letting out a breath only when his supervisor had moved on, but not after snapping on a new coat and hat on his person.

🐍

“i don’t know who’s worse,” jungwoo’s tone is gentle, but there’s a hint of insult underneath his lilting voice as he stares at a ten that is positively giddy, a ten that is hugging his knees close as he burrows further in a coat that stinks of a reaper. “ _him_ or you.”

taeyong’s eyes grow wide in utter offense. “i was _not_ like that!”

jungwoo sips on his tea, a jasmine blend from taeyong’s garden, and shrugs.

“he cleaned my carpet,” ten gushes, dramatically inhaling whatever scent is left on the dark coat. “washed my hair and stayed the night too.”

taeyong groans, gesturing towards ten’s chosen ensemble. “i assume that’s _his_?”

ten nods. “he left it in the morning rush.”

“huh,” jungwoo sets his teacup down, brow quirked in curiosity. “that’s weird for a reaper.”

ten beams, giggling as his insides bubble with warmth once more. “isn’t it?”

he hugs the coat close to his form, finding comfort in the lingering scent of death on the velvety fabric. he knows his friends are making faces, but he pays them no heed. not when he’s _this_ happy.

“you know he has no heart?” taeyong states like a question, like it was a deterring factor.

“mhm,” ten hums, golden hues twinkling with mirth. “it’s what makes him perfect.”

🐍

he doesn’t know why he’s here. work came and went like the wind, and kun just finds himself back in the heart of the woods, his hands devoid of any lists to mark and cross-out.

“does this mean these are mine now?”

ten is leaning against a tree, wearing his hat and his coat and making it look like it was made for him. kun thinks the emotion he feels is _nervous_ , but the phantom beats in the void of his chest point more towards _excited_. it’s hard to decipher when it’s been a while since he last _felt_.

“oh,” kun stops at a foot of distance, enough to admire the sight. “you kept them?”

“mhm,” ten nods, offers his hand, his open palm. kun takes it, lets ten pull him forward.

“i’ve got a couple of new tea leaves.” ten’s eyes shine menacingly underneath the moonlight. kun thinks of more words for emotions, decides on enthralled. “would you like to try them?”

“is this an offer to visit your home?”

ten intertwines their fingers, squeezes. “isn’t it _why_ you’re here?”

the world is a world of magic. there are witches, the fae, creatures of lore and myth, blending in or staying out, some looking more human than humans. the woods ooze with enchantment, but there is danger in the glamor, a warning behind the glitter. but kun has no reason to fear.

“help me out?”

they reach ten’s home in no time, holding hands in their traverse. only when ten has let himself in does he let go, the lamia gesturing towards the belt that cinches the coat against his waist.

“can’t you do it yourself?”

still, kun approaches, undoing the buttons and pulling the belt loose. it is ten that shrugs it off in full, revealing nothing underneath, save for smooth, honey skin speckled with silver scales. it’s not the first time kun is seeing it, but it’s the first time that he stares, and ten makes his satisfaction known with a low moan as he runs his fingers along his arm, his neck, his collarbone.

“touch me,” ten says as an order, and kun is powerless to defy him.

it takes a beat, and kun has cupped ten’s cheeks, kissing him breathless, devouring every moan, every whimper. ten matches his pace, matches his _hunger,_ looping his arms around kun’s shoulders and pushing close, close, _close._ kun grabs his thighs and wraps his legs around his waist, his lips never leaving ten’s, tongue licking inside of ten mouth and tasting fire, _fire_.

soon, the floor is a mess of clothes that reek of _death,_ but kun is too lost, too drowned in the lips that nip and bite on his neck, the fingers that rake and claw and pull at his hair.

he fucks ten against the wall and makes love to him on the bed, the silk sheets staining with their sweat, ten’s tears and drool as he screams kun’s name for more, _more._ and kun delivers, gives above and beyond, and he holds ten tight as he peaks, shaking and shuddering as he spills.

silence fills the aftermath. for a while, all that can be heard is the sound of heavy breathing, until kun starts chuckling, _giggling_ , his shoulders quaking with the act.

“i feel sticky,” he says, voice a bit hoarse, and ten snorts underneath him.

“you don’t say,” ten sounds dazed, winded, fingers drawing constellations on kun’s back.

“shall i run a bath?” kun lifts himself up just a bit, enough to see ten’s face, enough to admire the after-sex glow painting his cheeks. he’s beautiful, devastatingly so, and kun has the dangerous thought that should he still have it, he would’ve willingly given his heart for ten to devour.

“only if you sit with me in the tub,” ten answers, cupping his cheeks, and pulling him down for a soft, sweet kiss. kun leans down, kisses him again—twice, for good measure.

“of course.”

🐍

it’s a foreign feeling, waking up snuggled against someone in the morning, but it’s not of the unwelcome sort. in fact, ten enjoys the warmth and basks in it, nuzzling further against kun’s naked chest. he hears no heartbeat, just the soft rush of breath. ten thinks it’s perfect.

“good morning.”

ten looks up to find kun’s dark eyes on him, and he wastes no time to lean up for a kiss.

“good is definitely the right word,” ten coos as he stretches, throwing his arm over kun’s torso and pushing closer. “mister reaper has no work to do today?”

kun buries his nose in ten’s scalp and inhales. shrugs. “dunno.”

ten snorts. “you must _really_ like me.”

“i do,” kun holds him tighter. ten smiles like an awfully successful cat. “i _really_ do.”

“lucky you,” ten breathes in—the scent of wildflowers, of the death that lingers on kun’s pale skin—and feels right at home. “i like you too.”

🐍

this is the woods. it is not friendly, nor is it safe.

but kun doesn’t care. ten lives in the woods. he’ll be here for as long as he does.

**Author's Note:**

> for kuntenweek day 5: supernatural


End file.
